The Heart of a Lion
by Littleotter73
Summary: William Whele has been exposed as a traitor, what is a father supposed to do?


**Title:** The Heart of a Lion

**Author:** littleotter73

**Rating:** FRT

**Characters:** David Whele, William Whele (mention)

**Setting:** Through "Beware Those Closest To You"

**Summary:** William Whele has been exposed as a traitor, what is a father supposed to do?

**Disclaimer:** Just for fun, not profit.

David paced the length of his sanctuary. He'd spent weeks playing the wounded, broken man, letting his son William think that he was now the head of the family, the alpha male, and during that time, David had worked quietly behind the scenes gathering information and biding his time patiently.

There was no way he was going to let that sniveling, misguided, little _whelp_ get away with bringing angelic filth into _his _city. He'd worked far too long and hard to get to the top and create a working society in the aftermath of a war humanity never started. A war of survival started by that _thing_ his son worshipped - that _thing _that had unleashed its dogs and decimated the human race.

No, it was rather unforgivable.

William had known better. He'd watched as his mother had her throat ripped out and as his brother and sister were dragged away by vicious, murdering eight balls. Gabriel's attack dogs.

And now Claire Riesen knew what David knew: that William was the traitor, the leader of the Gabriel's Black Acolytes; that he had infested the city with vermin and allowed the archangel to infiltrate Vega, turning it upside down with such fear and infighting, that Claire had to send in the military to subdue the riots.

William had been the worst poker player of them all. His weaknesses too numerous to count, he'd been caught up in a web of lies and had exhibited an extreme lack of patience. He just wasn't clever enough to pull off the type of coup he wanted. And now David had run out of time harboring him, protecting the last of his family. He had to deal with his son or The Lady of the City would have someone else do it.

And that wouldn't do.

William was his son. His responsibility. The boy was weak. Cowardly. The runt of his pride. The one who had exposed them to the enemy… and continued to do so, only this time with deliberate malice.

Something had to be done. He paced some more, picking out the Dillinger Arika had presented to him upon her arrival to Vega. It was a beautiful gift. Thoughtful. Deadly. And she'd even supplied the ancient ammunition. He placed a round in the chamber and took aim across the room.

Could he kill his son?

He couldn't that horrific night so long ago. He'd wanted to, god knows how he had wanted to. He'd wanted to take that hammer and bash the little bastard's brains in for exposing them like that, for allowing the eight balls to take his wife and two older children. Charles would've been his heir. Charles had been a worthy heir: intelligent and strong. And little Peggy was the light in his eyes. His hope: bright and calculating and full of promise. But William had been small and sickly and overly needy from the moment he was born. David couldn't abide it. And yet, in his darkest hour, at the very height of his rage and grief, he let the boy live - his last connection to Eleanor.

He still missed her.

He poured a glass of bourbon from the bar and took a long pull. It burned going down, but it was comfort now and he welcomed it like an old friend. It would steady his hand and give him strength of mind.

David knew his history. He'd built the mythos of House Whele from the very foundations of ancient civilizations. He understood symbols and psychology and used them to create the image he wanted to present. These things had made him a great televangelist and after the devastation, helped him survive and rise to the top of Vega's social strata. And, ultimately, they would keep him there as he reinvented himself again. To do so, he had to rid himself of the little usurper – the jackal in the house of lions.

In a few hours House Whele would have no heir.

So be it.

He packed the truck with supplies, threw his bound, gagged, and unconscious son into the back seat, and drove out into the desert. Getting past the guards was no issue. He knew of the tunnels, had planned an escape route long ago. Any good leader always has an escape plan.

He drove for hours at break neck speeds. Far enough into the desert to be alone, sharing space only with lizards and tumbleweeds, far enough where no one would find the young Principate.

No hero's funeral, Claire had said.

He finally stopped the car, removed William from the backseat, and pulled the burlap sack off his head.

Now it was about survival.

In Sparta, when a child was born small and sickly, they were a threat to the city state – drained precious resources away from the community, so they were turned out of the city and exposed. William had threatened their very survival from the beginning and David had sheltered him. It had been a grave mistake on his part. One he had made over and over from the time the lad was born.

But unlike helpless babies, William still had a chance - albeit a small one.

David saw to it, providing him with food, water, and the Dillinger with the one round in the chamber. Either William would survive or he would die trying, but he wouldn't suffer.

If he truly had the heart of a lion.


End file.
